


Ride or Die

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Oral Sex, Other, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: Everyone in Hope County is celebrating the end of the Seed Family, except for the Deputy. Sharky checks in.





	Ride or Die

“So, uh, cool party, huh?”

Sharky is throwing his voice over the sound of the Mötley Crüe blaring over the speakers in the Spread Eagle. 

The bar is crowded with Hope County residents, spilling out onto the porch and street. Sherri, from the Can of Worms Fishing, brought in the discovered whiskey barrels around ten, the whole bar soon reeking of the Henbane River and a smokey vanilla. The aged kick of the whiskey, coupled with the end of the Seed Family, leaves the bar’s occupants in high spirits. Except for the rookie Deputy.

“Dep? You cool?” he tries again, this time nudging at the solitary Deputy.

“Hm? Yeah,” Rook comes to, offering a smile.

Sharky sidles up next to the Deputy at their table, grinning. He slides his hands across his beer, the bottle twisting and turning in-between his hands. “What gives, man? Why the doom and gloom?” he asks, eyes meaningfully staring at the still full glass of whiskey before turning back up.

The Deputy’s mouth turns grim, lips a thin line. A lackluster sip is taken.

Sharky shifts uncomfortably in his seat, beer bottle going still.

“You should be fuckin’ stoked. You punched four eyes in the face while trippin’ balls!” he adds, boisterously. A little louder — _on purpose,_ because shit if this isn’t a bit strange. Unsettling, even.   
  
A few whoops from the nearby patrons sound off and Sharky’s grin widens, holding his beer up in a salute.

Rook doesn’t budge. Gives a polite smile and nod for show, lifting their glass before setting it down.

There must be something telling on his face because the Deputy shoots him a somber expression and sags into the back of their chair. Their glass of whiskey does a dangerous rattle when Rook tilts the glass up by one side and releases. Rook opens their mouth, voice too low and soft, “….sure…comes next… How…do you come back from…”

_Goddammit._ The music eating away at Rook’s words, Sharky forced to lean over the table to hear. Nothing. He gives a pained face, holding up a hand.  
  
“I can’t hear you, man. I…look, hold up, why don’t we go out back? I got,” he starts, voice raised, but he stops himself a bit. He casts a glance behind him, before he’s leaning in closer, “If you won’t tell, I won’t tell, but I got something to, uh, make you feel better.” He gives a suggestive look to the front of his hoodie before holding up two fingers to his mouth, imitating taking a drag.

Rook, actually, gives a smile. A real one, this time.

_“Really?”_

“It’s some good shit. Don’t snitch, okay,” Sharky proclaims, still leaning over the table.

“It’s Hope County, how good can it be?”

Sharky scoffs, nose scrunching at the comment in offense. He waves a hand in dismissal at the Deputy’s statement, sitting back in his seat, “You comin’ outside or what?”

The Deputy actually follows after him, shuffling and pushing through the crowd of bodies until they’re slipping out from the back. There are a few stragglers off to the far left, sharing a cigarette. They don’t seem to notice them. Sharky gives a nudge at the Deputy, pointing to the partially dilapidated picnic bench not too far off.

Rook gives it a questionable look. One side is in complete ruin, metal and wood having rot itself into the soil. Sharky either doesn’t seem to notice or care for the state of the picnic bench, because he’s hoisting himself up on the still intact portion. The entire structure groans in warning at his weight.

He pats at the spot next to him before he’s shoving his hands in his hoodie’s pocket, pulling out a ziplock bag and a lighter. Picking the already rolled blunt out, he pins it between his lips before moving the lighter towards his mouth.

“Alright, spill the beans. What’s eating at ya?” Sharky asks between lighting.

Rook joins him on the picnic bench, gripping at the edge when the sound of metal grinds. They, eventually, relax, but their hands remain put. Sighing heavily, they shrug their shoulders, “I’m thinking about leaving. Moving back with family, just until…I figure out what comes next.” Sharky’s stomach drops, casting a strange look at Rook. It goes unnoticed,Rook staring at their lap. “Just not sure what really comes next, even for here. How the hell do you get back to normal?”

_Shit,_ he’s never good at this.

Sharky takes a generous inhale, feeling smoke sit in the back of his mouth. He passes the blunt over to the Deputy, exhaling in surprise when it’s actually accepted. Sharky chokes a little when the Deputy takes an inhale.

A startled cough rushes out of them, passing back the blunt, but Sharky is grinning, rocking from side-to-side on the bench.

“Told you it was good,” he sings. He pats the Deputy’s back for good measure.

Taking another drag, he gives an unsure sound, thoughts back on the unanswered question. They sit there in silence, Sharky mulling over his thoughts, passing back the blunt. He doesn’t — shit, he doesn’t know what to say. He keeps on thinking of those cheap cards you can get at the drug store: _You Got This! Go Get ‘Em! Hang In There!_ Nothing meaningful is sticking out and…

_Ah, hell._  
  
“I’m gonna be honest, Dep,” he starts, mostly because the silence is starting to make him antsy, “got no clue.” He chews on the inside of his cheek, adding with a wag of a finger, “ _But_ Hope County hasn’t exactly been marinating in normal for ages, now.”

Rook snorts at that one, nodding.

“I’d…ya know, hate to see you go,” he ventures slowly, intently staring at the dark outline of homes surrounding the bar, “I mean, you do you, but you know we got your back.”

Rook just keeps on nodding, but doesn’t say anything in turn. That has Sharky shifting, the bench beneath them creaking. When given back the blunt, he takes in a deep drag. He holds it until his eyes start to water, letting smoke leave in a heady whoosh of exhaled breath.

_Just fucking do it._

_Just do it. Don’t be chicken shit._

“I like you, man,” Sharky heaves out, albeit too loudly, wincing. He gives a hasty look over his shoulder. The folks they saw when exiting the bar are gone, but the sound of people talking around the corner is a harrowing reminder they are not alone. Shooting the Deputy a glance, he adds, "We have chemistry, ya know? Me and you are a great team and uh…maybe can be more than just a team. That can’t quite happen if you leave.”

The silence that comes after leaves him finishing off the blunt. There is an ache starting to form in his chest. Ignoring it, Sharky puts out what little remains onto the bench’s surface.

“You making a move on me, Boshaw?” the Deputy asks, voice light and humorous. Sharky risks looking at the Deputy, finding something like a smile on their lips.

Sharky shrugs his shoulders, fingers beginning to pick at his jeans, “Gonna be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing, but I like to think I’m doing it well.”

“You are. Keep on going.”

“Oh…” he mumbles, before pausing. Thinking. “ _Oh.”_

That sure as shit wasn’t a no.

_“_ Oh, shit…yeah, uh…you’re a boss,” Sharky starts, enthused. He’s sitting up straight on his spot on the bench, holding up a hand as he starts to number off, “Punched Faith’s ticket. You stopped Jacob’s wolves from eating me ass first. You don’t take issue with how I conduct my life.” The hand moves up, pushing his cap up so he can scratch at his forehead. He ends up just grabbing the whole thing, worrying at it with both hands.

“You’re…you’re hot, you know,” he adds, dropping his voice. He’s refusing to make eye contact with the Dep. “Make the whole get-up looks real good, if you get my drift. Like, I’m gonna be honest,” he starts to ramble, voice beginning to pick up in volume, “I don’t quite care for law enforcement. Can’t even get into them Law & Order shows, but you’re different. Like you make me want to watch Law & Order.” He’s sneaking another glance at the Deputy, but it was done too fast. Didn’t even get a good enough look.

“I…shit, look, I wrote something way nicer and it’s at my place,” Sharky cuts himself off, “I can grab it — no, no I’ll grab it, because there is more, but I can’t quite make words work. Just give me….give me half hour, I’ll be back — ”

A soft yank on his sleeve makes him pause. Calloused hands framing his face, pulling him down, shuts him up entirely. The Deputy is kissing him. Honest to God _kissing him_. _Holy fucking shit_. Sharky is going crosseyed with their heads so close and his eyes open. He, finally, lets them slide to a close, just as the kiss comes to an end.

“I like you, too,” Dep announces.

A crooked smile pulls on his lips, inhaling deeply. He quickly closes the distance between them, pulling them into a kiss beginning on chaste. He lets their lips just press against the other before his mouth is coaxing the Deputy’s open. Their lips are parting and Sharky doesn’t hesitate to press a tongue into their mouth, groaning appreciatively when they close their lips around the instruction and suck. Already he’s feeling too warm in his hoodie, tempted to pull it off, but he doesn’t want to break the connection.   
  
He can feel the Deputy’s hands on his face slide back towards his neck and _fuck,_ he wants the Dep closer. The picnic bench isn’t working. He’s trying to show that he picked a bad venue, moving a hand to settle on their thigh, pulling at it, trying to turn them towards —

The Deputy moves his hand further in, resettling his hand on their groin. The breath gets kicked out of Sharky and comes back in swears.

He’s sloppy and uncoordinated in his kissing. His fingers and heel of his palm are pressing down into their groin, rubbing small circles into denim. Deputy responds by pushing back into the touch, trying to meet him halfway. It leaves Sharky breathing hard against their mouth, feeling sweat collect where there hands are on his neck.

“Hold up,” he’s mumbling, carefully pulling away. “Don’t leave,” he pleads, albeit out of bad habit.

Sharky is tugging his hoodie over his head, realizing that wherever his hat is…is gone. Probably on the ground. He shuffles his way in front of the Deputy, offering the hoodie while reaching down to skate his fingers across the zipper of their jeans. “You…should prob sit on this. So you don’t get splinters up your ass,” Sharky matter-of-factly informs, earning a quizzical look from the Deputy.

“Wait…you asking me to take off my pants?” they ask, voice a whisper.

“Well, yeah,” he returns in earnest, head cocked to the right, “and this is so you don’t get splinters.”

“Sharky, we’re in _public_.”

“Is it really public if it’s dark?” Sharky teases, adding quickly after, “we can move this elsewhere, though. I’m cool with that.”

There is a drawn out sigh and the Deputy is soon standing on the seating of the picnic bench. Looking about them, determining the coast to be clear, they start undoing the button of their jeans. Sharky stares. He watches the quick shimmy out of their jeans, underwear being tugged down with it.

_Holy shit._

“You look good,” he mumbles, in a daze.

A hand has to be waved in front of him for him to come to. He’s rushing over to lay his hoodie where the Deputy was sitting, grinning a bit too widely as the Deputy takes a seat.

“Just don’t be loud, Boshaw,” they instruct, and he’s nodding so damn hard he feels his neck start to burn.

“Like a church mouse, Dep.”

Sharky is helping to remove the Deputy’s boots before tugging off their jeans and underwear completely. He’s nudging them in place, moving their legs so they’re spread out just wide enough for him. Eagerly settling between their legs, he carefully pulls them closer, just to the point where part of them is hanging off the table.

He lets his hands run up and down their legs, peering down at them in the gloom. Sharky leans down to let his mouth latch onto the inside of their left thigh, pressing semblances of kisses onto their skin. He’s sucking the salt off of them before moving to the next patch of skin. It’s a slow move upward, dragging his lips, testing the thicker parts of the Deputy’s thigh with his teeth. It earns him a soft sound in content, encouraging Sharky to move further up.

He’s nosing at the inseam of their thigh, taking a long swipe at the collected sweat with his tongue, before he’s pushing his mouth in-between them. He laps at the sensitive skin with enthusiasm, alternating between long flicks of the tongue to something more brief and rapid. Fingers are starting to curl into his hair, legs closing in on him, when he dares to push his tongue in.

The Deputy is starting to rock into his mouth, sliding against his lips and tongue. He’s trying to time it perfectly. Time it just right where the Deputy is directly over his tongue and he can push in. Push in just to the point where he can feel the clenching of muscles, before it slips away. The messy attempts leaves the Deputy shaking, hips stuttering. They’re tugging at his hair, urging him closer.

_Fuck._

He pauses to suck lewdly on a patch of skin, shoving a hand in-between his legs to unbutton his own jeans. He’s practically wrestling at the zipper before he’s pulling his cock out of his underwear, giving a few dry tugs. He returns to pressing his tongue into the Deputy, earning hips rolling and sinking into the intrusion. They’re starting to set a pace, sinking deeper onto his tongue. Sharky moans between their legs, starting to thrust in earnest into his own hand.

Fingers are, suddenly, tightening on his scalp. The Deputy is moaning, the sound rising over the sound of the muffled music coming from the Spread Eagle. He can feel the Deputy clenched and tight around his tongue, tightening his own grip on his cock. He listens to the moan falter into a heady inhale of air, fingers starting to soothingly scratch and rub at his scalp. With his mouth still pressed into the Deputy, he spills over his own hand with a groan.

Sharky tries to clean up, moving his mouth and bruised lips to assist, but a hand is gently pushing him back. Tucking himself back into his jeans with his clean hand, he shakily gets up from the bench.

He just stands there, watching the Deputy find their clothes and slip back into it. They look a bit shaky on their legs and Sharky can’t help but feel a bit smug.

“That was good, Sharky,” they smile, turning their head up towards them as they’re stepping into their boots.

Sharky beams, chest puffed out.

“Fuck yeah it was.”

A pause, scratching at his beard, “Uh…probably not good timing, but, uh… Like is this a one time deal or…something else. I mean, it’s cool, whatever. I get it.”

Deputy is plopping back down on the bench to put on their other boot, looking up at him. “Ride or die,” they return.

Sharky’s mouth parts, blinking. “You watched the movie?” he rushed out, voice loudly filling the air. He hushes himself down with a soft swear, torn between rushing up closer to the Deputy and staying put.

“You’re supposed to say it back,” Dep grins and Sharky is grinning back, swaying to himself.

_“Ride or die.”_

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
